


Up the River

by Gato_322



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, David Acting as Max's Parental Figure | Dadvid (Camp Camp), Gen, Gotta love Dadvid, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Platonic David & Max (Camp Camp)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gato_322/pseuds/Gato_322
Summary: Long story short: The Forest, but with Max.He’s gasping, taking in air and rainwater and the fact that two canoes are overturned. David’s swimming towards him, fighting against the current, long lanky limbs only making a fraction of the progress he needs to get to him. “Max!” Red hair clings to his forehead like an old mop, that stupid bandanna bobbing against his mouth. “Max, remember what I taught you!”"You didn’t teach me shit, asshole!" Max wants to scream, but he gulps down another gallon, the burn driving against the back of his nose and his throat and his eyes and he goes under again.Max and David get lost in the forest and miles away from camp, and have to work together (and begrudgingly bond) to find their way back safely. Gwen is forced to oversee a camp all on her own, while grappling with search and rescue and the idea her best friend could be dead. Nikki and Neil won't let go of Max without a fight, even if it means teaming up with rivals.
Relationships: David & Max (Camp Camp), David/Gwen (Camp Camp)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 111





	1. Fight the Current

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where I want to place this fic. I don't think I'll be alluding to David's (depressing af) forest incident, but at least his knowledge is confirmed.  
> Completely platonic David and Max interactions because Dadvid has my heart. Implied Gwenvid because that also has my heart.

_Up. Down. Up. Down. Hold._

David gleams in the mirror, flashing perfectly straight teeth that’d come together by awkward teen years full of braces and incessant brushing. _Keep holding!_ Smiling came to him as easy as breathing. And in the environment he sought out every summer, smiling was the core element of keeping the camp together. Smile at government officials, rowdy kids, angry parents, it was all the same.

At least the smiles he _didn’t_ have to fake were coming easier now.

“God, do you _really_ have to do this now?”

The voice is annoyed, but not hateful, and David casts his co-counselor a glance. She’s perched on her bed, knees tucked against her chest, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands like it’s a vial of medicine that she needs to stay alive. Despite the fact the campers had calmed down enough to allow their exhausted counselors to regain some bearings, Gwen hadn’t looked like she’d benefited much. In fact, David wondered if she was getting _less_ rest, considering how often he heard her turn and toss and grumble and inevitably read until the sun came up.

“Smile exercises are essential, Gwen!” David chirps, and Gwen looks ready to chuck something at his head. “Want to try some with me? I’ll start you on the basics~” He sing-songs as if it’s the most enticing thing in the world and Gwen grunts. “Nope. It’s too _early_ for this,” she practically growls, but David smiles warmly at her anyway.

The clock on their bedside table ticks to 6 am. Their safe haven of silence will be uninterrupted for at least another hour. David pulls away from the mirror, striding over to one of the armchairs and relaxing into the spongy cushions. It’s really more comfortable than their sorry excuses for beds, but he knows mentioning it will set Gwen off on another budget rant. “Wanna watch something?” He swings his head to his gargoyle of a co-counselor, who looks ready to rip his head off. _Ah, good ol’ Gwen._

Instead of snapping at him like he’d expected, she sighs, craning her neck a bit to break a crick out of it. He’d started a routine of bugging her a little more, approaching her for casual conversation, dragging her into small little activities to help her unwind, and maybe it divided her time in an inconvenient way but he figured he’d wait until she outright complained. “Don’t make this weird.” She pauses, watching his expectant gaze, those sparkling green eyes that rivaled the night sky. “We kinda...the uh. The plan today could use some polishing.”

David gasps, jumping to his feet as if she’d presented a treasure chest of a million dollars worth of Camp Campbell gear. “Gwen! You wanna work on the schedule with me?!”

“What’d I say.” She deadpans before she chugs back the rest of her coffee, uncurling stiff legs to grab another mug. “I figure it’s better than delaying the inevitable. Plus that rain outside means the Relay Race activity’s gotta go.”

“Ah. Right.” David doesn’t spare a look out the window, instead adjusting a nearby bucket placed under one of the _many_ leaks in the roof. The five buckets around their cabin have begun to fill steadily, and would likely need emptying by noon judging from the torrent outside. “Wellll, we can do something in the mess hall! Maybe a good ol’ round of duck, duck, goose…”

“You’re infuriating.” But Gwen’s tone is light, and she inspects the pot of coffee, casting him a glance as if he’d judge her if she chugged the whole thing. “God, I’m gonna struggle to stay awake today.”

“Gwen, you’re going to do _great_!” And coming from anyone else, that remark would’ve come off as purely sarcastic, but David always managed to make compliments sound sunny and genuine and like a coveted prize to win. Gwen returned his smile, and he felt the smallest pang of emotion at the adoration she’d started displaying only two weeks ago. He’d figure that out eventually. “Thanks, I guess.” She gives up and just takes the lid off the coffee pot.

“Let’s get planning!” David lays out his agenda book, rain steadily tapping on the roof and into tin buckets as he flips a pen in his hands. Gwen reaches his side, muttering something about how he managed to gain more energy as the day went on. “Bastardization of how a human oughta operate, I swear,” she remarks, knocking back the coffee as if it were a whole bottle of vodka. David bumps her shoulder in response, cheery and bright-eyed and admiring, when there’s a sudden banging on their door.

The two of them glance at each other, transferring hidden messages and mental checklists. They had an early riser about once a week, but never straight to their cabin, and David knew they both worried that someone’s tent had collapsed. _Again._

“Someone better not be sick,” Gwen intones, and David swings the door open. In comes a green-haired blur and a flurry of noises he can’t quite process yet. There’s a beat, and he realizes then, taking in the scene before him. Nikki and Neil, an unfinished trio. Neil is in his pajamas still, feet covered in mud and hair dripping plastered on his forehead, and he looks fear-stricken. Nikki is crying, wailing into David’s ear, and he can’t bring up the obvious question before Neil suddenly blurts, “He’s fucking _leaving!”_

Something turns in David’s stomach as he tries on a shaky smile. “Max?” Nikki grapples as Gwen moves to his side, and she clings to Gwen like a lifeline without so much as a bite. “Wait, what--”

“David, something’s _wrong._ ” Gwen’s dropped her apathetic expression, eyebrows knit together in worry, and _Gwen never worries_ and David looks back at Neil for an explanation. “Take a breath, Neil,” he directs, as Neil’s face turns uncomfortably pale. “Where’s Max? What’s wrong?”

“He went out into the lake!” Neil wrings his hands, tugging at his sleeves, a nervous bundle of energy as the rain gets icier. “We tried to stop him, he wasn’t trying to wake us up and we tried to follow him and he’s saying he’s going away, and I don’t know why, I don’t know what we did and what’s wrong but he took one of the canoes and we couldn’t stop him. David, he can’t row in those waters!”

“A _canoe?_ He’s in the _lake?”_ David’s voice goes up in pitch, tinged with panic and no, _he shouldn’t panic,_ and lightning strikes. It backlights Neil’s frame with a bright white glow, eliciting a wild shriek from Nikki. “He’s gonna get eaten by _sharks!”_ She wails, and Gwen quickly sets her down.

“David--” But he can’t hear her. Something’s buzzing in his ears, relentless and staticky and merging all his thoughts together until he realizes his feet are taking him out into the rain, directly towards the lake. The rain pelts and stings against mildly sunburned skin, the thrumming energy in the air connecting to his brain like a live wire and he’s already pulling a canoe down from its storage.

“Don’t go _out there,_ you idiot!” Neil sputters, and David turns to see they’ve followed. Gwen is gone, possibly fumbling for the emergency phone, but he only spares her a small thought before he’s pulling on his life jacket. “I have to, Neil. I can catch up.” He lifts his gaze, spotting the small blue figure of Max rowing halfway across the lake, just past Spooky Island. The waters are tremulous, and David knows the depth of the lake drops drastically upon Spooky Island’s radius. Even he couldn’t reach the bottom there, and he’d swum all his life.

The canoe makes its way in with a solid push, and David’s boots dig into the silt of the lake shore, his hands cramped and frozen and acting entirely out of his control. His brain doesn’t feel caught up as he sits, picks up the paddles, and barks at Neil and Nikki to push.

The two don’t argue, desperately shoving him out, and he needs a moment to adjust to the bobbing of the water. David grunts, shoving his paddle against the resistance of the waves made from the storm, the current pulling him into an easy enough rhythm.

“Get back here, you little shit!” Gwen’s voice carries out for only a second before being swept away by the howling of the winds and a perfectly-timed rumble of thunder. “ _MAX!”_ David sees Max turns his head, but there isn’t any response. Max mechanically rows, the current becoming choppy as David is close enough to make out the form of his camper.

“Call someone!” Neil shouts, likely towards Gwen, and the sounds of their frantic conversation fades as David moves farther from the camp. This was against protocol, severely so. Search and rescue was more suited for this, but David had led Search and Rescue camp for _years,_ was certified in CPR and swimming lessons and first aid (to an extent. Gwen was always better at that) and David equates this knowledge to the reason he’d jumped straight into saving Max without a second thought.

That had to be it. He grasps at his thoughts, grappling them away from the intrusive negativity that Max is in _danger_ and this is _critical_ because he can’t afford to fumble now. 

\---

_Go._

The paddles resist against the water, fighting against the force of mother nature, and Max’s arms ache and burn and shake but he doesn’t stop. His backpack shifts and tosses itself at his feet as the canoe rocks, and he figures this will be the height of the danger he’d anticipated in doing this.

_Go._

Stupid fucking Neil. Stupid fucking Nikki. Stupid David and Gwen and everyone he’s ever come across in his life. He hates it, _despises_ it all, same as how he hates breathing and existing and receiving the relentless punishments for the unforgivable crime of being himself. He’s gritting his teeth so hard, they might crack, but he’s _not going to fucking cry,_ not now.

_Go._

His arms might as well have morphed to jelly and despite persisting with all his strength, so much that his head spins and twirls and _hurts,_ the paddles are becoming useless to the current. Max passes Spooky Island’s silhouette, the ominous aura creeping out into the remainder of the forest, broken only momentarily by a strike of lightning. Max pauses for breath, his hood slipping off his face and exposing his hair to the rain. Not that it wasn’t soaked through already. His ears freeze, the chill seeping through the measly defenses of clothes and skin and reaching deep into his bones. He wants to lay down, sprawl out onto the canoe floor and let the upcoming river decide his fate.

There’s a leaden feeling in his chest, painful and gripping. He can’t shake if off no matter how hard he tries. The entire summer consisted of what felt like carrying a weight strapped to his hoodie, inescapable even among the few good memories he holds, and as the canoe moves forward, imperceptibly so, it seems to be creeping through his body, tinged with animosity and exhaustion and he’s tired, _he’s tired, he’s tired._

“ _MAX!”_

Fucking snitches. Max growls under his breath, hearing Gwen’s voice ring out faintly over the wind. His brain tunes back in, painfully aware now that there’s more than one voice calling out to him, beckoning him back to shore, to Hell on Earth, and he’s going to try his damnedest to ignore them. 

“Fuck off!” The thunder swipes his words away, deeming them irrelevant and unwanted, and he turns his head in time to see the lightning illuminating the figure of a stupid redhead idiot heading in his direction. “...what the _fuck?”_ His fingers tighten over the paddle handles, and Max grips so hard that his nails reach into his palm and leave indents. He expected the Quartermaster to be the one coming for his head, or a search and rescue helicopter to descend upon him, but instead it’s _David_ and that feeling in Max’s chest tightens so badly, he can’t move.

_GO._

He turns, willing his muscles to move.

A water bottle rolls out of his pack, bouncing against the side of the boat, and the water is throwing him around now, as if it’s realized Max is doing a bad thing and seeks to administer punishment. Max rows, frantic and sloppy and desperate, and when he looks back he’s realized he’s barely moved at all and David is halfway to him.

The boat jerks. Max jolts, catching himself against the edge, and a paddle disappears into the water. “ _Fuck!”_ The rain’s coming down harder, blinding him, enveloping him in a sphere of too many noises and feelings and pain and suddenly David is next to him.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me!” Max roars, but David’s not saying anything. There’s a look in his eyes, unwavering and determined and _weird_ because it’s not what David does. He expected a string of positive metaphors or lecturing or shouting at worse, but this scares him more than if David had just started cursing at him.

The canoe lilts, dangerously enough to make Max clutch onto the side of the boat again and David reaches out, now inches away. “Max.” His voice is soft, jarring against the chaos among them and Max doesn’t trust it. “Please, get in.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Max pulls away, even if it’s tilting the canoe, even as the choppy waters get ever closer and Max knows he won’t survive if he falls.

“Max, _please.”_

“What do you care if I die?!” Max slaps at David’s hands, forcing the counselor to withdraw as his canoe lurches too. “Get a grip, David! Go back before I drag you down with me!”

He means it as an insult, but something in the back of his head admonishes him, knowing there’s _fear_ in those words and Max clambers to the end of the canoe to get away. He needs to get away, he needs David to get away, he needs everything to _end._

And David crumples, just a bit. Max knows David’s resolve is steadfast when it comes to letting the campers’ remarks get to him otherwise he would’ve been destroyed Day 1. Max has _tried_ and nothing breaks David, not enough to cause enough damage like he intends, but somehow a throwaway comment is enough to finally rip off the mask. Max finally recognizes the stupid look on David’s face as concern, as he leans dangerously close to try to get closer to Max. “Don’t, Max, get back, pl--”

And then it begins. The thunder rolls, dropping deep into the pit of Max’s stomach, and the panic sets in as his canoe tips over. He disappears from David’s reach, plunging into frigid roiling waters that are _definitely_ polluted to hell and back and Max wonders what he can even cling to as the current begins to grab on.

He’s powerless, he’s swinging his limbs and thrashing against water that refuses to hold his weight. It takes a few brutal seconds, a stinging sensation in his lungs, before his head breaks through the surface.

He’s gasping, taking in air and rainwater and the fact that _two_ canoes are overturned. David’s swimming towards him, fighting against the current, long lanky limbs only making a fraction of the progress he needs to get to him. “Max!” Red hair clings to his forehead like an old mop, that stupid bandanna bobbing against his mouth. “Max, remember what I taught you!”

 _You didn’t teach me shit, asshole!_ Max wants to scream, but he gulps down another gallon, the burn driving against the back of his nose and his throat and his eyes and he goes under again.

Nikki is screaming. Somehow, through the chaos of the weather and under the muffling bubble of the water around him, he can hear it. Shrill and constant over David’s yells and Gwen’s faint attempts to direct them back to shore but it’s not helping, none of it is helping and Max feels overwhelmed. His brain is yelling, screaming, _demanding_ he hold onto something even if it’s David. And yet, another part urges him to sink to the bottom like the lowlife kid he is. He’s torn between the two, but the decision was never his to make as he bobs up again for a split second.

David’s there. He’s somehow still warm, somehow stronger than Max remembers, and Max’s fingers cling onto his shirt but it’s not enough. The current begins to pull them apart.

Desperation crawls forward, tied to vulnerability and anger and emotions Max never wants to feel. He’s clawing, scratching, feeling David do the same, yelling to Max to hold on and doggy-paddle or grab his arm, grab _something_ but David’s grip slips like ice, his voice chokes and gurgles, and noises cease into an endless drone.

Time slows down and it feels like eons. Like it’s his personal hell, trying to grab onto a man he hates most and all it takes is to _let go_ but a small part in the back of Max’s brain refuses. He won’t let go, he _won’t fucking do it,_ because it’s David and he doesn’t want to admit he’d trust this sorry excuse of an adult with his life and yet--

David is gone. Max yelps, grasping at nothing, sinking again and again and again and he’s pulled underwater and doesn’t come back up.


	2. On the Riverbank

She’s freaking out.

She took her meds. She knows she did, because David is her insistent personal alarm she can’t shut off, but the anxiety is gripping her insides, something cold in the core of her stomach and she needs to shake it before it reaches her brain. She paces, boots sinking into the mud, and then Max’s canoe flips and Nikki and Neil are hurling insults and demands and strings of panicked sentences for her to  _ do something, do something, do something. _

It takes all the energy she can muster and the thought of a smiling David, practicing in the mirror, soft and domestic and her lifeline, and she’s running towards the mess hall. Nikki and Neil follow at her heels like personal guard dogs and they might as well be; they’re the only things keeping her from curling up on the floor in a fetal position and letting the earth reclaim her. There’s no way they’re going to lose a camper. There’s no way they’re going to lose  _ David. Not fucking David. _

She slams open Quartermaster’s door, ignoring whatever fucked up activity he’s invested in. He looks up unamused, somehow ignorant of the chaos outside, and Gwen tries to speak but it’s like her tongue has swollen and blocked her throat and if she so much as opens her mouth, all she’ll do is cry.

Quartermaster grunts, attuned to the fact something is wrong. Neil pops in under Gwen’s arm, practically shrieking, “Max and David are  _ fucking drowning!”  _ and Nikki screams and it’s enough to rouse him out the door.

The other campers have stirred, coming out of their tents in droves amongst the downpour, and she mechanically ushers them out of her way as they run to the lakeside. Quartermaster drags out a canoe, hops into it, and immediately paddles to the spot where two overturned canoes bob in the water and something is gripping within Gwen’s chest so hard, she can’t breathe. Quartermaster is well-equipped for the job. She’s sure he’s drowned at least 7 times and came back anyway, but that can’t be said for David and Max.

Her eyes scan for a blue hoodie, a yellow bandana, but everything is swept away by the current. She’s not panicking outwardly, “gotta hold it in for the kids!” David always said, and maybe it was unhealthy as fuck but she couldn’t handle it if pandemonium erupted. Not yet.

Looking out at the gray waters heeds no results. There’s no one, there’s nothing, just Quartermaster ignoring the fact his boat is teetering with every paddle. She can’t tell what movement is from the water or from the boys and someone grips her collar and tears her eyes from the scene.

“You’re hyperventilating.” It’s Nerris, her voice thick with her lisp and something heavy, and Gwen is pulled to the ground. She hadn’t even noticed, but as the numbness in her brain gives way, just for a second, the panic is palpable. Everyone has gathered, witnessing the scene and searching for answers she can’t give yet. It’s spreading amongst the campers, but Neil and Nikki answer the questions and quell the worries as best as they can. Solidarity, for once in this godforsaken camp, and it’s on behalf of the two people she can’t believe would ever instigate it.

Quartermaster returns. His boat is empty. It doesn’t hold any bodies, but that means Mother Nature has claimed them instead and Gwen’s squeezing her hands so hard, her fingers hurt. 

Neil is kneeling by her side, saying something about breathing exercises, and Quartermaster steps out of the canoe. He presents a teddy bear speared on his hook and grunts, “All I could find.” He doesn’t elaborate, because even if he lacks a heart or empathy or morality, Gwen can tell Max and David are enough to cause a ripple. 

There’s a tense silence. The camp will erupt into chaos soon enough and Gwen knows she can’t handle it on her own. Neil stays on her right side, Nikki collapses to her left, and the three lay there even as the rain reduces to a drizzle.

\---

The darkness releases, just for a moment, and it’s enough for Max to get a grip on consciousness. It beckons him back, pulling him towards comfort and he’s weary and exhausted and confused but he shoves it away, hands dropping to grip at the feeling of wet dirt underneath him. He forces his eyes open, blinding sunlight and unforgiving heat and an acrid taste in his mouth hitting him all at once. 

It takes a few minutes. He’s in no rush to move. He’s fucking alive, because  _ of course he is.  _ He registers the idea that no bones are broken, no organs have shut down and burst from his body, and he hasn't been decapitated or something. Shaky hands reach up to trace his chin, spattered with mud and scratched by river rocks but he’s  _ alive.  _ His joints ache, his head hurts, but he’s functional enough to let himself sit up.

His mind slows, like dragging through a vat of molasses, and the heat isn’t helping. Max squints, blinks, swallows hard, the pounding in his head subsiding as memories pop back in his brain little by little. Water and a canoe.  _ God, I’m drenched.  _ His pack is gone.  _ So much for that.  _ David paddling towards him, screaming something he can’t hear--

“Fuck,” he announces, just because he can. The forest hardly responds, maintaining its chorus of birdsong and leaves swaying in the wind, a rabbit digs through a bush, a stick falls to the floor, river bugs drown out the buzzing in his head as his brain catches up to speed. 

He’s paddling in that canoe, then he’s swirling in a hurricane with limbs he can’t control, then David is there, swooping to the rescue like he always  _ fucking  _ does and Gwen and Nikki and Neil are shouting and screaming and David can’t hold on and--

Max curls in on himself, a nervous tumultuous sensation mixing with the gross lake water in his stomach. David had been the one to let go. And Max knows it’s not his fault but the world is lurching and spinning and an inward voice intones to him, grating and low and menacing, that David is  _ dead  _ and it’s all Max’s fault.

“David!” Max shakily gets to feet that feel like lead but lack any steadiness. The river at his side moves along at unusual speed, the trees swing with the weight of the birds, and David’s not here,  _ he’s not here,  _ and Max winces at the weird keening noise piercing his ears until he realizes it’s him.

“ _ Fuck no.”  _ He’s aware his lip tastes of blood, but it doesn’t need his focus. There’s no way he made it out and not David. Not stupid fucking David. David’s conversation starter is about survival skills this, survival skills that, how the forest had practically birthed him and there’s no way David’s gone,  _ no fucking way,  _ and Max’s breathing has started to thin. 

“Okay. Fuck, okay, calm the hell down.” He drops back to the floor, counting in his head the way Neil taught him when things got too overwhelming. He bid his lungs to quit burning, a deep-seated persistent pain as if he’d returned to the bottom of the lake where all he could inhale were  _ things that weren’t air.  _ He was okay, he’d be okay, he was freaking out over nothing because the camp was really two meters away or something, he’d turn around and Nikki and Neil would laugh and laugh because David was okay and how could Max even  _ care  _ and--

_ Stop. _

Max breathes. It’s shaky and painful but he  _ breathes.  _ Something gurgles a bit and he coughs wetly, spitting out a mouthful of water. Eventually, the breathing evens out into something normal, enough to clear his head and squash the panic back into its hiding cove of typical apathy.

He turns his attention back to the river. An imprint stands out, an indention in the silt of his body washing up on the riverbank, and Max turns back away. He oughta follow it. There’s nothing around him, all his supplies have vanished,  _ stupid Honeynuts drowning on me,  _ and Max tilts his head up to the canopy of towering pine trees.

“Alright, you stupid forest!” His voice wavers, and he knows this won’t matter but it’s something to hold onto, something to yell at to feel in control again. “I’m gonna make my way out of this, there’s no  _ fucking  _ way you’re holding me hostage even more than you already have!”

He doesn’t know what he expects. He feels helpless and small and expendable and there’s no way he’s holding onto that feeling. “Fuck you, forest! Fuck you, Nikki and Neil! I’m…”

_ I’m coming back, fuckers. _

His ankle twinges a little as he moves forward, a small glint in the river’s water catching his eye. Something’s caught on a rock, swinging in the current. Humming, Max moves forward and plucks it out, fingers only momentarily shocked by the cold as he lifts up a whistle. Left over from his now destroyed luggage, he rolls it between his fingers and shakes out the water.

“Either you’re about to help me or kill me.” He doesn’t want to, but he needs to, to confirm whether he’s alone or  _ alone  _ and--

_ Alright, chill the fuck out. _

He brings it to his lips and blows.

It’s piercing, rattly, sputtering before it rings out into the forest. The animals fall silent for a split second, before gradually returning to the forest din, and Max pauses. He inspects the tool in his shaking hands. It’s not like help would materialize like a genie, but it was worth a shot.

He pockets it with a  _ squelch  _ from his hoodie, musing as the sun beams down. He can’t tell how long he’d been passed the fuck out, but it has to be already past noon. Hunger’s pushed out by the roiling panic still swinging in his gut and he’d had enough water to last a week at this point. Eventually, he approaches a tree and stays there.

He doesn’t let his mind wander to the thought of bears or wolves or sea monsters coming to claim him as a meal. He’s ringing a dinner bell, but his hands won’t let him throw the whistle into the depths of the trees. If someone is out there, he needs their attention; even as he tells himself he’s  _ perfectly fine,  _ he knows he can’t last long in these woods.

He blows the whistle in intervals, thinking of his phone ( _ gone forever),  _ the camp ( _ probably going on as usual),  _ that stupid Camp Campbell flag waving above the mess hall ( _ celebrating a camp anew, with no more genius schemers to cause havoc _ ). He thinks of Gwen and how shitty she must be taking everything. He wonders how long it’ll take for his face to get plastered to the back of milk cartons and if his family will even care. That subject hurts a bit too much, and he scrubs at his face as if that’ll remove the idea of his family completely.

The air’s cooled down, just enough to feel less stifling, and his clothes have dried a manageable amount. The weariness and sluggishness sloughs off of him. He’s still tired,  _ exhausted,  _ but not helplessly weak and a surge of energy brings him to his feet. He swipes up a stick laying against the river, nearly as tall as him, and he presses some of his weight onto it as he wounds the whistle around his neck. He begins a trek uphill, staying directly by the river.

\---

It’s not often Neil gets to sink into the reprieve of technology, considering their camp in the middle of the woods is as arcane as it gets. Things with screens allow a safe haven from the unbearable pain of social interaction, though after the whole calculators-gone-sentient incident, it’s weighed down by the slightest bit of reluctance. Only a little, of course. So he doesn’t protest when Gwen drops a laptop into his hands, the only one they locked away in the counselor’s cabin. And any other day, Neil would boast in his friends’ faces and code away to his heart’s content but this isn’t a normal day.

He clicks through folders, bringing up David and Max’s portraits that’d been a result of Photography Camp. His fingers don’t fly as fast as they normally do, as he brings up a template and adjusts the color. Bright, searing, eye-catching, and he hears Nikki creep into the tent.

“Food.” Her voice has lost its bite, and she sets the tray carefully on the table. Neil glances at her, because she’s  _ never  _ careful, and he tries not to notice the broken look on her face, the redness of her eyes that she’d desperately been trying to hide since the campers had been crowded back into the mess hall. Everyone reeled between apathy and devastation, because despite finally losing a nosy counselor and insensitive asshole, it wasn’t as much of a cause of celebration as they’d hoped. The tension was too much, and Gwen directed everyone to do Self-Care Camp and Neil hadn’t so much as heard any one of the campers since.

“Is everyone...at lunch?” Neil winces, as he resizes the pictures. David’s smile is still annoyingly persistent, even through the screen. 

Nikki shakes her head. She doesn’t elaborate, rubbing the side of her arm. “Um. Can I. Can I sit with you?”

Neil gestures to his cot, and she clambers in. She raises her knees to her chest, fixating a thousand-yard stare against the wall of the tent. Neil figures conversation is something they both wouldn’t benefit from, and he turns his attention back to the screen. He lets his body twist just enough in her direction, enough to let her know she can talk if she needs it.

The keys clatter. The word “Missing” in bright red is displayed on the top of the templates, and Neil has to pause and swallow. He picks up the small notepad Gwen had added, a string of details scribbled in blue pen.

Max: 70 pounds. Black hair, green eyes, 4ft 10.

David: 186 pounds. Red hair, green eyes, 6 ft 4. 

If seen, call Camp Campbell phone number or emergency services immediately.

Now the pictures feel hard to view, and Neil is glad he’s added them last. He finishes saving the files and closes the program, and Max and David flicker out of sight. The silence weighs heavy, and he knows the next step is to approach Gwen for the printer, but he doesn’t want to move.

“...it’s our fault.” Nikki’s voice is small, crackly and beaten as if she’d been resigned to living in the city forever. She lifts her head, looking at Neil with a turmoil of confusion in her eyes. “...isn’t it?”

Neil knows he should reassure her. But he’s a man of facts, of understanding the implications of what people think of him even if it’s sucky and hurtful and not worth his time. He closes the laptop shut, standing from the chair, not sparing her a second glance.

“He was an asshole, Nikki. He decided to leave us with that. And if our last memory of him is dumping us to the curb then he shouldn’t be worth your time.”

Nikki recoils, her eyes widening and immediately welling with tears and she points at the laptop wordlessly.

“It’s my version of a good-bye message.” Neil knows it’s destructive, it’s wrong, it’s not what he thinks at all because even when he saw those two swirl into dangerous waters with little to no chance of coming back out, something in his head is clutching at inaccuracies and hoping it’s all fake. He has the smallest bit of hope in what the posters will produce, what the search and rescue team will find, but that hope refuses to push past his lips. “Nikki, you and I both know they won’t come back.”

She’s quivering now. Despite the breakdown he’d expected, there’s animosity and fire in her eyes, the kind she gets before snapping at the counselors with her teeth. “Go away,” she hisses, and Neil is smart enough to leave the tent.

\---

Hiking was never one of Max’s strong suits, considering he always made Nikki or Neil carry him through the nature hikes David forced on them. It’s worse off considering how his chest feels tight and fatigued. Breathing takes a bit more effort than usual, but Max won’t concern himself with it yet. He keeps moving, carefully maneuvering the riverbank, sidestepping small frogs and clambering beetles and the occasional mollusk that stops as if to acknowledge his existence before creeping away. 

And yet, despite hating the nature walks and animals and humid forest air, Max would be lying if he said he  _ completely  _ hated the forest. Being stuck at camp had created a hatred by association relationship if anything; at least being stuck amongst nature meant he didn’t have to talk to a stupid adult or wrangle a camper. It was, to some measure, peaceful. 

He breaks that peace, just for a second, his whistle slicing through the air and making his ears ring. He drops it from his hands when he hears something rustle a bush. 

“Okay.” Max turns, scanning for the noise but only a bird tweets back. “Rabbits. Just rabbits.” But the bird noises have died down, reducing to a single constant tune, as if warning him of something in his presence and Max starts walking faster.

He hears it again. He has to strain his ears, but it’s unmistakable; feet slapping against the forest floor, crunching and smashing its way to him, and all Max can do is curse and start running.

“Of  _ fucking  _ course!” He hisses, pain shooting up his foot as he takes the stick into both hands. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but he could bludgeon with enough force. The noises come closer, snapping twigs and Max is sprinting as his life depends on it, the whistle clinking against his chest. He’s desperately shoving the fear crawling towards his throat, threatening to make him scream, but he won’t die down yelling like a goddamn pussy. Not like a  _ David,  _ and that thought keeps spurring him forward as a nearby branch snaps and the birds fly into a cacophony of shrieks and noises. He wonders if death by bear is a cool enough way to go out.

“ _ MAX!” _

Max trips, the riverbank rapidly approaching his face, and he’s barely able to catch himself. The stick clatters to the floor, and suddenly he’s being swung up into the air, crushed into lanky sunburned arms.

“Oh  _ god,  _ Max, you’re okay--”

“What the  _ fuck!?”  _

David,  _ David,  _ is staring down at him, tears streaming down a scratched up face and Max can’t speak. Partly from being crushed and partly because the words don’t form just yet. Instead, he clings back, vowing to never speak of the vulnerability once the emotions die down.

“ _ Oh god, oh god,  _ I was so worried, I thought-- I didn’t think-- you can’t swim and I was so  _ scared  _ you didn’t make it-”

“Calm the fuck down.” Max’s voice comes out hoarse and gravelly, but he doesn’t let go. David sniffs and slobbers and sobs and  _ breathes  _ and Max feels like a five ton weight’s been lifted off his chest and replaced with the stupid redhead who’d stupidly  _ survived  _ and he’s lost for words again. 

David doesn’t reply. Finally, he sets Max down, patting him over, pulling up sleeves to inspect his arms. Normally Max would spit at him for invasion of space but he’s too tired to care. “Are you hurt? Are you alright, is anything broken?”

“I’m  _ fine.  _ You scared the shit out of me, you  _ asshole.”  _ Max blinks, finally taking the time to inspect David. He’s got a makeshift splint on one leg, his face and arms scratched to hell. Dried blood cakes an elbow, his vest is gone, but somehow that stupid bandana stayed put. “You’re fine?” It comes out as more of a question and David pauses, as if not having expected concern. 

“...I’m okay.” He gives a shaky smile, finally letting go and standing back up. “You’re a really smart kid, Max.”

Max huffs, swiping at an eye that wasn’t watery at all, not at all. “Whaddya mean, genius? I just followed the river.”

“The whistle. I don’t think I...I never would’ve found you if you hadn’t found that.”

Max turns over the device in his fingers, the call to a savior, the reason he’s summoned a blubbering redhead who’s somehow alive and okay (to an extent) and Max wonders if it’s stupid to thank an inanimate object. “Yeah, well…” He can’t continue, looking at the ground, something light and hopeful and dumb fluttering in his chest. He’d display all his thoughts, the stream of “wow, I thought you were dead but I guess you’re not and I was really scared you would be and I’d be  _ alone  _ because you were  _ dead _ ” but it’s stuck in his throat and he’s sure it’d get David to start crying again.

“...I missed you,” is all that comes out, spat between gritted teeth and he almost expects David to scoop him up again but there’s only silence. Max spares a glance up, and David is smiling down at him, as if Max would dissipate in thin air if David moves to hug him again.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” David’s voice is low, thankful, and finally the tears stop. “We’re lucky, you know. Currents like that, they’re, ah. Not very forgiving.”

“It’s a wonder  _ you  _ made it out,” Max sneers, picking his walking stick back up. “I’d expected the water to snap you in half like a fucking kit-kat.”

“Oh, it’s not the first water incident I’ve had and it won’t be the last!” David’s infuriating cheeriness is back, as he waves a hand in the air. Max heaves an overexaggerated sigh, as David studies the river. “I think our best bet is to find a landmark. If we can spot Sleepy Peak Peak, we can have something to follow.”

“The volcano with a shitty name?”

“Yep! It’s only a few miles from camp.” David’s jovial tone has made Max wary that they’ll ever get out of here now, and he hopes to god that David knows what he’s doing. As if reading his camper’s mind, David bends down a bit to catch Max’s eyes. “Hey. If we work together, Max, we’ll make it out, okay? And if not, I’ll make sure that you do.”

Max doesn’t ask what the hell that even means. He wrinkles his nose, breaking away the gaze to look at the towering trees that block any mountains he could spot. “Yeah. I’m short as hell, that’s not gonna work.” David’s eyes flicker with something Max doesn’t catch before he stands back up.

“I can’t see much either.” David sets a hand on his chin, gears turning in his mind. Max wants to mock him, but the fact David is here, someone to help get them out of this godforsaken mess keeps his mouth shut. It’s  _ comforting,  _ and Max would rather dive back into the river than admit that to David, so he only kicks at the pebbles at his feet as he listens to David mumble solutions under his breath.

“Alright. Two options!” David holds up two cheery fingers, and Max returns the gesture with one middle finger. David ignores it, approaching a nearby pine tree and tilting his head up. “Either we find land high enough, or we climb a tree!”

“There’s no  _ we  _ if you’re climbing that,” Max remarks, leaning against his stick. “I’m not fucking catching you if you fall.”

“Well, not  _ me _ .” David’s smile falters, and he glances down at his splinted leg. Max follows the gaze, the nerves in his stomach kicking up again. “I sprained my leg coming out of the river earlier,” David explains, and the look he gives Max is hopeful and bright and eager and Max outwardly groans. “Max, how about I teach you how to climb a tree?!”


	3. Moving Along

Camp Campbell typically never maintains a set schedule, even with David’s intricate over-the-top planning, as if time was its own sentient being that neither counselor could figure out. Gwen often remarks that all she has to do is blink and the day would flick by, a blur of screaming children and blown up buildings and stopping Quartermaster from skewering anyone, all with David’s high-pitched worried voice trying to slow it all down. 

It was an advantage, really. The faster the day was over, the sooner she could indulge in her magazines and forget it ever happened.

Now, time seems to have stopped altogether. Gwen personally approaches each kid, something she’d usually  _ never  _ do, but it was necessary; last thing they needed was children with mental breakdowns when emergency services were crawling all over the camp. For the most part, the campers were fine, invested in their own personal activities. Even Nurf busied himself with burning ants out of an anthill. Small miracles, really.

Nikki is the most despondent, forming an odd mixture of relief and worry in the pit of Gwen’s stomach. Neil works alongside Gwen the whole day, printing out piles of posters that are precariously stacked on her desk to haunt her for the rest of the night. Everyone remains in their tent or mills around their stations, only displaying interest when police cruisers and vans pull up to the camp.

Hoping that all the blatantly-illegal violations are tucked away, Gwen pastes on a fake David-certified smile and does what she can. Her words are jittery and stilted, and handing over the piles of missing posters feels equivalent to dipping her hands in shattered glass. A piece of her  _ hurts,  _ even as she tries to keep a level-headed demeanor, and eventually Neil pops up under her arm to help her out. She doesn’t protest.

“Missing counselor  _ and  _ missing kid?” The sheriff isn’t surprised in the slightest, and Gwen resists the urge to flip him off. “Of course it’s gotta be  _ you.  _ None of the other camps have had this problem.”

“The other camps are led by a drunk and a hormonal nutcase,” Neil spits, and he drops the last pile of posters in the hands of a nearby deputy. “When’s search and rescue coming out?”

Gwen knows she oughta snap at him to be quiet, but her throat feels clogged, and she can only nod.

“Helicopters are already searching. We’ve sent boats out towards Lake Lilac, they’ll be here within the hour.” The sheriff pointedly stares over at Gwen over his sunglasses. “You contact the kid’s parents yet?”

“I...tried.” Gwen doesn’t know why she feels so nervous. “They didn’t pick up. And David, uh. David’s family contacts were kind’ve outdated.”

Neil kicks at the dirt, his jaw clenched and fingers curling into his sweater. He seems to have had enough as he turns and walks back to camp. Gwen wants to pull him back, let him do all the talking, but it’s  _ ridiculous  _ to let a ten-year-old take over and she slogs through the rest of the encounter like a dream.

She points out the spot for search and rescue, makes a hasty dinner alongside Quartermaster, and immediately sends everyone off to bed. She doesn’t bother trying to act like everything is okay; even David wouldn’t keep his composure if Max went missing either. Outside, the temperature’s dropped to a brisk chill, but the rain clouds have disappeared. 

The sun barely begins to dip below the horizon, and some of the campers put up a fight, but Gwen sits Quartermaster down at the fire amongst the tents and gestures for everyone to get inside. “Look, I need to…” She’s not sure what’s next. All that’s left is  _ waiting,  _ and she can’t admit to it, because it’s going to be harsh and suffocating and anxiety-inducing but she doesn’t have energy to corral kids anymore. “...just stay out of trouble,” she finishes lamely. 

The campers exchange looks, but they retreat back to their tents. “Make sure no one gets lost or some shit,” she directs to Quartermaster, and he grunts.

Once she’s back in the cabin, she gathers up paperwork for  _ yet another lost camper,  _ and momentarily considers contacting Campbell. The thought gets pushed out as fast as it comes, because there’s no doubt he’d shut everything down and disappear for good.  _ David would be crushed if he comes back and it’s all gone.  _ She sinks into an armchair, clicking on the TV to distract herself from the millions of doubts in her head. 

She tries. Bob Ross’ voice is soothing and cozy but the pain is still squeezing the center of her chest when David’s cheery voice doesn’t butt in to discuss the intricacies of painting trees. She’s not sure how long she sits there. When someone knocks on the door, the sky is dark and a gentle night breeze flows through the camp. 

When Gwen opens the door, she answers to Nikki, who uncharacteristically moves inside without a word.

“Hey.” Gwen watches as Nikki stops at the desk, a lost look in her eyes. She looked like a wild animal at all times, sure, but now she looks like a  _ kicked  _ wild animal cast out from its home. Nikki stays quiet, and Gwen sighs as she shuts the door. “Um. Are you okay, Nikki?”

“No.” Her camper glances upwards, and Gwen prays the waterworks don’t start. “Gwen, do you think they’re gonna find them?”

In reality, Gwen has no faith in the search and rescue department of Sleepy Peak. Out of the 56 missing people in the past year (she’d  _ checked _ ), only 4 had been found. Either the forest was especially harsh, or people were dropping out of existence. Hell, they still hadn’t found that missing kid down at Spooky Island from all those years ago.

But the pleading look in Nikki’s eyes keeps her mouth shut. Gwen shrugs, picking Nikki up and moving her away from the Missing posters scattered on the desk. “I think all we can do is wait right now, Nikki.”

It’s odd, for once, not having the girl struggle or bite in her grip. Gwen discreetly swipes a hand on Nikki’s forehead but there’s no fever. “...are you worried about Max?”

“I think we, um. I think we ruined the friendship.” Nikki sounds weary and frustrated, like a middle-aged woman lamenting her past mistakes, and Gwen sets her on one of the armchairs. “We didn’t know Max was packing to go away forever! And when we woke up, he got  _ really  _ angry.”

“He’s  _ always  _ angry.”

“But not like  _ that. _ He said he regretted ever getting to know us, and that we probably regret it too. He was saying a lot of really weird stuff. I thought maybe it was rabies, but Neil said it was Max’s issues coming up to the surface or something.”

Gwen’s memory dredges up images of Max lashing out at David during the past week. It didn’t seem abnormal. Though she remembers David feeling disappointed that some level of progress he thought he was making had suddenly vanished.  _ Should’ve done Mental Health camp,  _ Gwen bitterly thinks as she looks back towards Nikki. “What was Max doing the past few days? Was he sulking or just yelling at you guys?”

“He was on his phone a lot. I kept asking to play the games, but he’d yell at me.” Nikki pauses, gears turning in her head. “I think...I think it had something to do with his parents.”

Max’s phone. Or rather,  _ David’s  _ phone, now sunk to the bottom of the lake. Their little shred of evidence is long gone, and Gwen rubs at aching temples. Goddamn, she needs some aspirin. “Okay, Nikki, I’m gonna have to send you back to your tent. We can talk more about this tomorrow. When I  _ don’t  _ have a migraine setting in.”

Nikki is quiet. She shifts in her seat, any glimmer of emotion in her eyes deadening immediately. “I don’t wanna go back. Neil doesn’t want me there.”

God. The last thing Gwen needs is drama between campers. And normally she’d state her apathy and force Nikki back anyway, partly to wave the issue away and partly because of the potential of entertainment, but something stops her. If it involves Max, if it involves the reason all of this has happened, maybe they could figure something out. Gwen had no fucking clue  _ what  _ but if she only gets closure instead of David’s hand at the end of all this, it’d be something. 

“Okay.” Gwen gestures to her bed, thankfully devoid of trashy magazines. “You can sleep here.”

Nikki crawls to the bed, curling up into it like a dog on a sunspot, and Gwen settles back into an armchair. She lets the TV hum as background noise, and Nikki’s gentle snores fill the cabin.

Gwen falls asleep in the armchair, refusing to take up David’s spot. 

\---

It comes as no surprise to Max that David would seize a teaching experience. Hell, Nikki almost falling into a bear trap had spurred a long conversation on illegal hunting laws that Max had long shoved out of his brain. Whether it was just weird counselor tendencies or just  _ David  _ tendencies, Max knows he’s in for the long haul and his hope for finding a way home dwindles by the hour.

He pastes on an unamused expression as David hovers around him like a hummingbird, that achingly familiar enthusiasm bubbling forth like Quartermaster’s mystery stew on the stove. Max doesn’t talk, craning his neck to gaze up at the tree he’s meant to climb. Heights don’t scare him. Maybe they do for David. He stows that nugget of knowledge away as David finishes his spiel.

“Okay!” David claps his hands together, somehow bouncing on that messed up ankle. “Now Max, I want you to be  _ very in tune  _ with how you feel up there. If it’s too much, come down immediately. I’ll be here.”

“Right. I fully expect I’m about to Wile E. Coyote this shit.” Max readjusts his grip on David’s belt, looping the garment over one arm as he approaches the tree. Just in case his sore hands failed him, David handed over the belt as a plan B. Not that Max thought it’d be any help. David was a twig and the belt could barely wrap around the tree base anyway.  _ God, we’re so dead. _

He starts the climb, gripping onto the first few branches as David mutters and worries and paces. Max is ridiculously light, evidenced by how quick everyone is with lifting him ( _ especially  _ David) and the ascent is easy.

“Be careful.” David’s tense, voice growing fainter as Max goes higher. “Lift with your legs! Release any tension in your shoulders. I’m here, I’ll catch you, be ca--”

“David!” Max snaps, and it’s enough to shut the counselor up but he knows David is fretting and pacing and maybe trekking for a few days to find a mountain would’ve been the better choice, but Max is already too high up and he’d be damned if he couldn’t call at least half the shots.

The stuffiness in the air clears, light and cool and a relief to his exhausted lungs. Max isn’t sure how far he gets, but he eventually slows down when David starts yelling, and then stops when David  _ really  _ starts yelling.

Peace. Max closes his eyes for a second, bracing himself against the base of the tree, as if seeking a hug he knows he can’t get. It’s the opposite of warm and inviting up in the air, but the gentle feeling in his chest is like a missing puzzle piece. 

He opens his eyes, gazing out on the rolling landscape. An endless array of trees, mimicking the waters they’d been lost in as the wind flows through. Wispy delicate clouds decorate a slowly reddening sky, as if swiped through with one of the camp’s shitty paint-brushes. Max wishes he could step off the tree and into the picture before him, floating out into the sky where nothing hurts, no one hates him, and that feeling of peace stays rooted in his soul.

He holds onto it. It’s all he needs. Just one moment for everything to  _ stop. _

“ _ Max!” _

Max sighs, the tranquility broken, and he spares a glance down at his panic-stricken counselor. “God, David, you’re  _ really  _ wearing my name out!”

“Be careful! Come down if you can’t see anything!” David is bouncing again, but now more out of anxiety than anything else, and his arms are outstretched. He’s ready to catch as if Max wouldn’t immediately destroy the forest floor if he fell now. Max snorts, turning his attention back to the expanse for a little longer.

It takes a few seconds, but he sees it; a telltale point that’d spewed lava towards their camp only a month and a half ago. “David!” He calls, and he points off in the direction.

David drops to his knees, scratching something out in the dirt. Once he’s stopped, Max lowers his arm and hooks the belt onto one of the thicker branches below him. He bids one last longing look out into freedom before making his way down.

When Max spares another look down, David waits with his arms out, still at the ready.  _ Damn fool,  _ Max thinks as his pine needles pinprick his palms.

“E-easy, Max! Be careful! Careful, just— no, don’t put your foot there!” David is right back to fretting, and Max wishes he knew how to  _ shut it off _ . This was going to be his life, or whatever’s left of his life. “Max, remember, don’t shift all your weight on one branch! You’re doing great!”

Only a few feet from David now. A smirk crawls onto his face just as David’s stupid smile drops and Max lets go.

He relishes David’s very unmanly shriek, dropping ungracefully into his arms. He feels a small pang of guilt, but the emotion vanishes once David bursts into tears.

“Oh god, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s ok--” David blabbers, as Max shrieks, “Let me the  _ fuck  _ down!” Max lightly smacks the belt on David’s hip, and that seems to snap him out of hysteria as he’s set back on the floor.

Despite being so deliberate, Max wobbles on shaky feet. A chill he didn’t know he had travels up his back and he huffs as David looks him over. “Okay. Okay, we’re good!” The waterworks cease, and David lifts up Max’s arms. “No broken bones?”

“David.” Max shoots him a pointed look, but the glare falters at the immense  _ concern  _ on David’s face. “Humor me, Max,” he pleads and Max rolls his eyes. “No broken bones.”

“Organs okay?”

“Yes, David.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” David sighs, wringing his hands and Max feels he might as well flung himself into the atmosphere with  _ that  _ reaction. He hands back the belt, mesmerized by how hard David’s hands are shaking. “Geez, you’d think with how often we all almost kill ourselves, you’d handle this shit better.”

“Well, I put you in the situation so...so I’m a little more on edge.” David snaps back, uncharacteristic frustration lacing his voice, and Max steps backa bit. He drops it pretty quickly, leaving Max to numbly follow as they survey his scrawled drawing in the dirt. “Alright! So the bad news is we were heading in the wrong direction. But! If we turn around and follow the river for a few miles, we should be able to catch sight of Sleepy Peak.” 

“So are we  _ just  _ following the river?”

“No. We have to head diagonally.” David points off to the expanse of trees, becoming darker as the sun sets. “But I don’t think it’s safe to head into the thicket just yet! We can walk riverside for now. Then we’ll head directly east, and it should be a straight path to Sleepy Peak!”

“That’s a lot of walking.” The image of the barely-visible peak pops back in Max’s head. “David, are you sure we’ve got this?”

“Max, I’m certain I’m getting you out of here.” And normally Max would take any stupid statement out of David’s mouth with a grain of salt, but the level of determination in his voice is new. Max rocks on his heels, mind torn between insulting or agreeing, and he finally settles on just an apathetic shrug.

It’s enough of a response. David smiles warmly, leading his charge back towards the riverside as the night sky begins to loom. “We need a fire and some shelter,” David announces, as Max picks up his walking stick. “Are ya ready for a review on Fire Safety Camp?!”

It takes a lot of restraint for Max not to swing the walking stick at David’s head. 

“Whatever.”

\---

Gwen’s mind is hazy when she wakes up, stiff and sore in the armchair with her head dangerously close to a neck-snapping angle. Nikki is gone, and the sun streaming through the windows is strong enough to indicate its long past breakfast time. She bites back a groan, delving into a mechanic morning routine. 

She might as well have not slept. The only reward granted is a mild headache and strong pangs in her chest when David’s bed is still empty. When she shoulders into the mess hall, the campers are eating breakfast like normal, and Quartermaster grumbles about in the kitchen.

She moves to join him, as Nikki slumps into a bench with Dolph and Nerris.

“Are you alright, Nikki? You’re looking very low on mana.” Nerris hovers a hand over Nikki’s shoulder, as Dolph moves to peer at her face. “...Did you sleep?”

“Yeah. I had the ‘giant fish eating me’ dream again.” Nikki stabs at her pancakes, appetite nonexistent. 

“Oh. Zat means you are  _ very  _ stressed,” Dolph remarks.

“Can we. Can we talk about something else?” 

The conversation is uneasy, and eventually the three taper off into silence as they eat. The mess hall appears normal at a glance; but Nikki looks up and sees the signs that the campers are keeping themselves busy for the most part. Harrison and Preston are distracted by a playbook, Ered’s tapping her fingers to the beat in her headphones, and Nurf is busy stabbing the table as Space Kid watches. She grabs at her chest, wondering what they’re all doing about the gross feeling she has too. “It’s like...something’s just eating me up in there. Like a worm found its way to my heart or lungs or something,” she mumbles, but Nerris only shrugs.

When Neil approaches the table, Nikki moves back and hisses but he only looks at her. “Nerris, Dolph, can you guys let us talk?” He doesn’t move his gaze as the two gather their plates and move tables. Nikki’s fingers clench over her fork as Neil slides in across from her. 

He doesn’t talk at first, and it’s common knowledge that apologies from Neil take a while. Nikki glowers at him, continuing to stab at her pancakes, and she watches as conflicting emotions flicker over his face. Finally, he meets her eyes, and she stops.

“I’m sorry, Nikki.” The silence is heavy, but the darkness in her eyes subsides. “I’m...I’m scared for Max too. It’s just, when he was saying all that stuff, it really seemed like he meant it. But I think something’s just really wrong.”

“Something  _ is  _ really wrong!” Nikki flings the fork away, slamming her palms on the table and unintentionally grabbing the attention of the mess hall. “Max wouldn’t just  _ leave.  _ Not without us! Even the very first day, he was gonna let us leave with him and I know what he said wasn’t true because he was angry! People do  _ really stupid stuff _ when they get angry.”

Neil grabs her hand and lowers his voice. “I  _ know.  _ That’s why we need to try to find him.”

“If he’s alive?”

“He’s alive.”

Nikki’s nose wrinkles, and she wants to question how Neil would throw away any of his logic out the window. If he still had a grudge against Harrison and his magic, there’s no way he’d doubt the sureties of Mother Nature...but she lets it drop. She’s not one to ponder unnecessary rationalities. Neil was agreeing with her, and that’s what she’d focus on. “...yeah. He has to be. He’s weird like that.”

Neil takes her hand and leads her out of the mess hall. Gwen doesn’t bother coaxing them back, and the two of them head straight for their tent.

“Here. I have a plan.” Neil gestures to piles of Missing posters stacked on their cots. “It took me all night to print these. But we’re gonna need every piece we can get.”

Nikki grabs David’s, snorting at the goofy smile on his face. “Maaan, he looks so dumb. Are we taking a jet and spreading them all over the forest?!”

“No. But I’ll put a pin on that.” Neil wrings his hands, a sign that he’s battling whatever idea threatens to come out. “If we want to try finding Max and David, we gotta get every ally we can. That means strangers. That means  _ enemies.  _ That means stupid girls in skirts and overly aggressive dudes with an inferiority complex.”

“The other camps!” Nikki’s eyes gleam, and she sets the David poster back on a stack almost as tall as her. “But are you sure that’ll work? What if they don’t  _ want  _ to help?”

“Why, Nikki.” Neil displays an almost Max-worthy smirk. “That’s where  _ you  _ come in.”

And for the first time in 24 hours, Nikki smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really see Nikki as stupid (in the context of a consistent universe). She's more of a more aggressive David. And much more naive.  
> Also! Thank you for the sweet reception, I don't directly reply to comments, but they warm my heart. <3


	4. Calm Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, the uploading schedule is gonna get suuuuper sporadic but we'll see~  
> Prepare for Dadvid and anxious somewhat-responsible head counselor Gwen.

For the first time since they’ve found each other, David finally backs off. Of course, the luxury is tinged with rules (“don’t go too far! Stay in my sight! If you see a bear,  _ play dead!”) _ but rules are inevitable when Max is stuck with a  _ camp counselor  _ out of all people in the middle of the wilderness.

He gathers sticks as David begins building a lean-to for shelter. Max keeps up the begrudged and reluctant persona, but once David is fully focused, he stops to watch. David’s whistling that stupid camp tune, his hands flying as he ties logs together with river weeds. He’s digging at dirt with his heel, balancing logs precariously, fingers deft and skilled, and maybe it should’ve been expected considering how much of a workout the camp gives their counselors on a daily basis. The thought they could be dead in a day is steadily melting away. Max isn’t sure how much to expect, but he guesses basic survival is the bar he can set and David is already surpassing it.

Despite it all, he’s still feeling a burning doubt in the back of his brain, nestled within glowing self-hatred and pity that’d been ravaging him for weeks. His thoughts flash back to his parents, briefly, but he shoves it aside. They’re the reason he’s in this mess, that him and  _ David  _ are stuck in the middle of nowhere, and Max isn’t surprised he harnesses the power to fuck shit up like this. He uses it for entertainment generally; but the one time he meant to be purely destructive, he hadn’t meant to drag someone down with him.

It’s why he tried to cut ties.

It’s why he’d yelled at Neil until he was blue in the face, why he cussed out Nikki until she was teary and reeling and he’d stomped out all the guilt under the guise that this was  _ protection.  _ Attachments weren’t necessary from the very beginning, and when the shit hit the fan, Max knew he’d made a mistake in making friends. And yet. He can still feel that guilt bubbling its way back up, and he doesn’t know how long he can hold it down when he’s with David.

His goddamn foil. Someone so open and honest and caring and ridiculously stupidly happy with genuity that Max had  _ never  _ experienced. It had to be David.

He was so  _ fucked. _

Max grits his teeth as he forces his mind to blank out again, bringing an armful of sticks to the campsite. David shoots him a winning smile before presenting his lean-to with a flourish. “Ta-da! How’s that for shelter?”

“If it collapses, I’m suing.” Max dumps the sticks unceremoniously on the floor before shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “How are we both fitting under there?”

“Oh, we’ll fit,” David muses, adjusting a log. “The importance is blocking out the winddraft! It looks like rain shouldn’t be an issue...but if it does, we’ll have a decent barrier once I get the mud and pine needles on it!”

Max grunts as he plops himself onto the floor. His head has begun to hurt, and he doesn’t know what to chalk it up to. David’s smile falters, and he peers suspiciously at his young charge. “Max? Are you feeling alright?”

“Never been better.”  _ I’m gonna fucking die.  _ “Just get that dumb thing finished so we can sleep soon.”

“Well, I was hoping you’d like to help me with dinner?” It’s phrased as a question, as if David is pleading, and Max groans. It’s too reminiscent of camp activities and especially stubborn days; where Max sits himself in a corner and sulks while everyone hounds him to join in on an activity he doesn’t care about.  _ This is different,  _ he thinks, if it’s for survival instead of “enrichment of character” or whatever the fuck Campbell labeled the camp’s shit as. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ to eat, but he guesses that David does and he wearily gets to his feet.

David offers his hand, but Max walks past it, and the two reach the riverbank again. The water is getting dark as the light fades, murky and swirling and lapping at his shoes. The current is slow; they’ve tested it already when they crossed the waters to avoid a felled tree. 

Max isn’t quick to move. David leads him to a deeper spot, setting a warm hand on his shoulder that Max tries to shrug off. “Okay, get down on your stomach. You’ve gotta watch the waters for movement. When you see the fish, grab it by its gills, or scoop it onto shore! Like this!” David demonstrates as Max turns to look at him. “What the fu--I thought you’d make like a spear or fishing pole or something!”

“It’s not necessary!” The cheer in his voice is grating, and Max lowers himself to the floor in hopes it’d shut him up. David’s persistent, but also perceptive, and he lets Max sit in silence as he gets used to the chill to his belly.

Tiny pebbles dig at his skin, but Max can deal. He perches his chin on his arms and watches. The water flows and ebbs, the ambiance sanding down the anxious thoughts still running in the back of his mind. He tunes out David’s presence and surveys the tiniest movements. There’s a snail creeping along a rock, a tadpole flickering past, a clump of vegetation knocking free and getting swept out of sight. A noise to his left snaps him out of it for a second, and he notices David take the same position.

It’s calming, unexpectedly, and Max lets his guard down; but not completely. David tries for a shadow Max hadn’t caught sight of, but the splash scares it off and David hits a rock instead. Max lets loose a laugh, David smiles, and they go back to watching.

Normally, Max doesn’t let himself slow down. But the concentration on the waters is enough of a distraction, and he finds himself inspecting every possible shadow.

“There.” David’s voice is barely above a whisper, but they see it. A robust black mass

making its way down the current, directly towards Max’s reach.

He doesn’t think twice. The growl in his stomach is enough of an incentive. Max plunges his hands blindly into the waters, gasping at the chill. His mind flickers, just barely, of swirling currents and struggling lungs, but it vanishes when his hands close around something.

“Oh shit!” His hands swing up, a carp thrashing and flopping in the direction of his face. He screams, stumbles, and drops into the riverbank as the fish plops in the mud. It’s freaking out, hopping and swinging its tail, and Max bats at it like a confused cat as David cheers.

“You did it, Max! Good job!”

“David, you bitch, I’m  _ traumatized _ .”

David doesn’t reply, suddenly shifting and practically throwing himself into the water. He brings up a second fish by the gills, and the unabashed glee on his face is quickly rivaled by Max’s scowl. “It’s a good learning experience,” David assures, and he drops the second fish next to the first. “I’ve been forming a curriculum for fish catching but it never quite got off the ground. Plus Gwen said it was too barbaric! It’s nonsense, but--”

“Great. Fun. Best time of my life.” Max rubs cold hands on his jeans as he stands back up. “I’m done.”

“I’ll start a fire.” David’s tone would almost sound subdued if Max cared to notice. He sits himself down by the firepit, willing his heart rate to go back to normal.

The sun finally dips below the horizon, and thankfully the approaching darkness is washed away as David gets the fire going. He waves his hands and looks to Max for a reaction but the boy only stares. 

“Cool. When does the warmth start?” The chill is beginning to seep through his hoodie and shirt, grasping at his bones and he tries to hide his shivers.

“Give it a few minutes.” David blows gently, willing a small flame to spring forward. There it is; another one of those weird smiles Max can’t understand. “I couldn’t have put this together without your help, Max!”

“I gathered like, five sticks, you asshole.”

“And they were mighty sticks indeed! Check it out.”

The fire begins to catch, and David gets to work setting up a spit for the fish. Max holds his hands out to the budding heat, stiff fingers uncurling as he sighs. He doesn’t bother watching David this time. He doesn’t care to learn any survival skills, and David seems to understand Max won’t listen to his insistence. 

Max ponders, fingers shaking, his scowl deepening as David hums. David is capable. David is the one who will come out of this. Max won’t.  _ He won’t,  _ and he’s okay with that.

_ I’m  _ okay  _ with that. _

He ignores the deep pang in his chest that comes with the threat of tears as David sets a fully cooked fish on a big oak leaf and presents it to him. They eat fairly quickly, and Max picks and stabs as he tries to avoid guts and scales. He’s not generally picky, but he’s also not Nikki, and his appetite waned the longer he sat. Despite the effort, he’s satiated enough by the end of it and David is happy with the result. They dump leftovers back in the river and the looming threat of the night comes down full force as the moon shines down.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” David gazes up at the star-speckled sky, and Max doesn’t reply. “I always loved astronomy. Never could quite get into a degree for it though.”

“Why not?” Max’s voice is choppy.

David pretends not to notice. “Too theoretical. I’m a hands-on guy! As I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He gestures to the lean-to, sweeping an arm out to direct Max into it. Max isn’t tired, but his body feels exhausted and the heat from the fire has made his mind drowsy. He drops and crawls in, and the space is snug and barely able to fit the two of them but they’ll manage.

David doesn’t go in just yet, and he crouches by the fire and settles it down to a dim glow. He looks out at the woods, surveying, listening, and Max listens too. The night sounds are significantly louder, but there’s nothing threatening or heavy in the air. He’s tense; but not geared up to fight and David’s shoulders hunch a bit.

“I know you don’t want to discuss it. But I do want to learn what that was all about.”

Max doesn’t have to ask. He grasps at the whistle lying on his chest, the soft clink of metal against his fingernails making him wince. He knew it was inevitable; he knew he owed David an apology, Neil and Nikki and Gwen an apology, the entire camp an apology. But the stubborn part of his personality refuses to give it up so easily.

“I’m not gonna tell you,” Max hisses. “No, actually, I will. I hate the camp and I hate you and I thought I could escape.”

“Max, I know that’s not true.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ me, David.” Max sits up, his eyes full of malice, and David shrinks back a bit. 

“Well...if this lasts as long as I think it will, I’ll learn everything I can about you, Max.” David’s thoughtful, quiet, and immune to Max’s anger. His stare is burning a hole in the boy’s forehead and Max jerks himself away so fast, his head spins. “I want to keep you safe. I just have to trust that...whatever this is, I won’t have you running off tonight.”

“Yeah. I won’t.” And that much is true. Max won’t let himself wander just yet. Not until he knows David will be okay.

David joins him in their shelter, and Max shifts to put as much distance between them as possible. “Is this enough room, Max?” David tries, but Max curls in on himself even tighter and David takes the hint.

It doesn’t take long. Max is angry, annoyed, and craving validation, but he won’t get it from David. He refuses. And as he sits and seethes, David falls silent, eventually snoring softly and muttering tree names under his breath. The night is cool, the wind is gentle, but Max is freezing. 

Exhaustion comes back like a full speed train, and along with it, the nightmares.

\---

When Neil wakes up the next day, Nikki greets him with a wagon full of posters and Max’s B.B. gun slung over one shoulder.

“Let’s go force people into our ideology!” She erupts before grinning widely at him. “That’s what the crazy man next door used to say before talking about Flat Earth. Good times.”

Neil yawns, fully stepping out of the tent and adjusting a leaning tower of papers. He shrugs on his backpack (snacks, water bottles, walkie talkies, and a notebook covered in debates and arguments he’d cooked up overnight to persuade their enemies) and tries to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. “We’ll hit up the Flower Scout camp first. They’re less likely to kidnap us and hold us against our will.”

“Oh, that’ll be easyyyyy. We just gotta make it sound like we’re looking for puppies! They eat it right up.”

“Have you told Gwen?”

“I left her some notes!” Nikki points to the cabin, the door completely plastered with sticky notes. Mornings had become unstructured and breakfast improvised, and Gwen didn’t step out of the cabin until well into the morning. Neil frowns as Nikki pauses. “Although, uh. I kinda forgot where I put the one saying where we were going. She’d get the gist, right?”

“Normally, I can give less of a fuck what the counselors think. But I think Gwen having an aneurysm wouldn’t bode well for the camp.” Neil makes his way down towards the cabin, and Nikki follows with the wagon. 

The two of them rap their fists against the door with gusto, knowing fully well Gwen would answer hung-over and restless. And ultimately, after ten minutes, she does, poking her head out with a heavy scowl and deep despair in her eyes. “Ugh. Look, I’ll be out right now, just uh. Raid the pantry, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Get your shit together,” Neil bites, before gesturing to their wagon. “Nikki and I are going to visit the other camps. See if maybe we can get a desperate alliance going. We will be relatively peaceful until we have to use force.” Nikki punctuates his sentence with a swing of the B.B. gun and a crazy smile.

Gwen blinks, taking in the scene and seeming to finally register what they’re doing before the door slams shut. Neil and Nikki exchange a look, but it swings open to reveal a newly dressed Gwen holding a worn-out water bottle and David’s clipboard.

“God, what am I doing?” She takes a swig, and Neil vaguely wonders if it’s vodka or water. “You kids are out here actually making a damn  _ effort  _ and I’m just…”

“Moping?” Neil huffs as Nikki chirps, “Sleeping in!”

“Okay. Look, I’d go with you, but I think I need to finally learn the David way and take over the camp.” There’s a flickering sadness in her eyes, but her general apathy swipes it away and she looks back to the clipboard. “If this place goes down in flames, David would haunt me for eternity.”

“If he’s not, you knowwww…” Nikki points downwards, and Neil jabs an elbow in her side. 

“Where exactly are you going? I need to know your whereabouts as much as possible.” Gwen hands over her phone, instructing Neil to put in his number as she bounds out of the cabin. The two campers follow at her heels, and Neil returns the phone.

“We’re bugging the Flower Scouts first. The girls will appeal to the empathy we’ll milk out of them and then we head to the Wood Scouts where Nikki will probably use that.” He points at the B.B. gun and Nikki cackles. “We’re thinking afterwards we can do something with the posters downtown. Maybe get actual search parties out, because there’s greater chances with greater numbers.”

Gwen’s face twists at the mention of the Wood Scouts and she takes another swig. “You’re taking Quartermaster to their camp, you know.”

“What?!” Neil huffs as Nikki gawks.

“Last thing I need is some shit about taking the camp again. We’re vulnerable. Like hella, David was better at finding Campbell’s money stashes and god  _ knows  _ how much that printer ink cost.” She sighs, almost sounding broken as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just. Let him trail along. It’s weird as shit, but I’d rather he be leading the boat and keeping you safe-ish.”

“Okay. Fine,” Neil concedes. “I personally accepted the possibility of getting forced into their stupid beefed up psuedo-military thing, but I guess having Quartermaster can keep that from happening.”

“Ooooh, he can slash them with his hook!” Nikki slices an arm through the air, and she bounces a bit next to Gwen. “So are you doing activities while we’re gone? Because if so, I see this as a total win.”

“Easy ones, yeah.” Gwen flips through the notes, settling on a scribbled list of tried-and-true methods for their picky group of campers. “Try getting back by dinner. Don’t stay out too late, and avoid the lake. Um. The search and rescue diving team is busy, and I’d rather you not...see anything.”

The words subdue Nikki’s bouncing and Neil grimaces. Gwen sends them off with a look that could be marked as  _ hopeful  _ before she trudges back into the camp with an air of misery.

“She’s a mess,” Nikki remarks and Neil rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I’m just hoping we don’t get sent home too soon. I do  _ not  _ want to stay with my mom during the school season. She goes  _ crazy. _ ”

“I hope this works out.” Nikki’s voice falls flat, and Neil can interpret that sentence in a million different ways. He doesn’t ask; they walk down the trail, the sun warm on their backs.

\---

The phone in his hand sears at his skin, but his fingers refuse to let it go. He’s stumbling into the mess hall, hearing David’s voice ring out as a jumbled mess.

_ Don’t think about it. _

He slides into a bench beside Neil, who gives him a curious look. “Dude, it’s the fifth time you’ve woken up late. Are you okay?”

It’s not like he doesn’t know. It’s not like he doesn’t see Max stare at David’s phone with bloodshot eyes like it holds all the nightmares of the universe. There’s a haunted look in Max’s gaze, something threatening to snap, and Nikki and Neil dutifully dance around the issue by pretending nothing’s wrong yet. Max is thrown by the acknowledgement.

“I’m fine,” he bites, and he stares at the wooden surface of the table. His stomach growls, but it’s too late for breakfast again.

_ Don’t think about it. _

It’s not new. It never was. He’s skipped meals his entire childhood, but he never mentions it to David or Gwen lest he get a mandatory meal plan or something. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t want to shove them in the hoodie pocket where the phone sits. It buzzes with a notification, the noise lost as everyone gets up to head outside.

_ Don’t think about it. _

Max gets up to follow, but Gwen stops him. Neil and Nikki try to hang back, their faces finally breaking through with concern, but he waves them off. They leave, even as he internally desperately wills them to stay.

“Max, I’m quite worried about how your sleep schedule is affecting you.” David comes up, hands on his hips and voice unconvincingly stern. “We need to discuss rightful solutions to this!”

Max shakes his head, but another buzz from his hoodie stops the lecture. Gwen leans forward, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Dude, you still have David’s phone?”

David’s surprised. “Is that what’s keeping you up? Max, I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate that. Or rather, take it back. My emails must be incredibly backlogged.”

“No!” Max reels, a surge of protective rage moving him backwards. He’s floating, growling, acting like a feral Nikki and suddenly he’s in his tent. But the silence is grating and Nikki and Neil are gone.

He’s opened the phone without realizing it. The screen blinds him, but locks his stare and he can’t pull away. His brother’s number, their conversation, the rush of emotions stare him back in the face and he can’t breathe, he can’t look away.

“Max, you need to understand this is for the best.”

_ Don’t think about it. _

“Disowning you wasn’t their first choice, I promise.”

_ Don’t think about it. _

“Well, maybe it was. I’m not here to defend or help them. Waiting until you came back from camp seemed weird. It’s just cuz you’re the youngest, Mom and Pa know what’s best.”

_ Don’t think about it. _

“You’re not coming back. Mom said I get your room.”

The tears are hot and painful against his cheeks. The tent collapses, crushing him, surrounding him in a swirl of heat and darkness and he’s keening, falling apart, grasping at a semblance of control that’s turning to dust in his hands.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He should’ve expected this. He shouldn’t  _ care,  _ but everything he’s so carefully formulated is falling apart around him. He was the uncouth embarrassment of a child, unremarkable and invisible on purpose, and they were sending him off as the disowned brat they couldn’t handle. It’s what he wanted. He brought this for himself.

_ I don’t wanna think about it. _

_ I just want it to be okay. _

He wakes up in David’s arms.

For a brief second, he thinks he’s back at camp, and he tries to push away fully expecting to hear Nikki and Neil tease him. But he only hears the gurgling of the river and the soft breeze in the trees and he remembers.

“Max. Max, look at me.” David’s crying, the goddamn sap, and Max wants to cuss him out but his tongue feels heavy. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

Why does he feel so much like crap? His limbs feel leaden, the air is thick and painful, and it’s hot. Why is it so hot? Max tries to tell David to turn off the fire, but his vision goes bleary and he can’t speak. 

“...be okay, it’s gonna be alright, I’m gonna figure something out, okay?” David doesn’t stop talking, but the fear in his voice outweighs his tone. Max lets himself lean back into David, lets himself be vulnerable just for a bit. 5 minutes. He’d nap for 5 minutes, then leave this terrible injustice behind.

What Max doesn’t know is that he’s not okay. And David feels terrified, holding a burning, pale, shivering little camper with a damp hoodie. He tries to prod some consciousness out of him, but Max won’t reply.

He can’t let this happen. He can’t let Max waste away when they’ve barely started. He’s left with nothing but a dissolved Midol in his back pocket and the rushing river behind him.

It’s not a good thought. It’s intrusive and dark and poking holes through David’s sunny mindset, that Max won’t wake up, that David would leave him behind with the heavy feeling his promise is broken.

_ Don’t think about it. _

Despite shivering, Max is burning up, and David is careful as he gets to work removing the boy’s hoodie. He takes him to the riverbank, the soft beginnings of sunlight sparkling on its surface, and it’d be beautiful if he wasn’t so panicked. He carefully removes Max’s shoes and socks, sliding his legs into the water. He cradles the boy, panic welling in his throat and threatening more tears but Gwen always warned him that his waterworks never helped anyway, and maybe it was about time he broke the habit already. 

“Max, I’m getting you out of here, okay?” David knows Max won’t respond, but it helps ease his own mind. “Whether it’s the last damn thing I do.”


	5. Gentle Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harder, mainly cuz I didn’t get to write much about my bois. But still a sucker-punch of a chapter, I hope! And a ton of characters that I lack talent to write properly but oh well.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments!! <3

Whenever David became overwhelmed, his solution was to delve into a complete distraction until he felt better.

It was an effortless feat at camp, where literally everything needed his attention anyway. It’s also why he’d picked up such a myriad of hobbies and skills; if life got boring, he just needed more substance! That was all! And it made him the perfect candidate for an all-inclusive camp counselor in the end.

Of course, emotional attachments never were really a factor in his distractions.

Max isn’t in good shape. He’s flushed and panting and David worries that he’s getting the first signs of pneumonia; and if it’s so, it’ll be hopeless to treat in the middle of the forest. He keeps Max in the river to break his fever, keeping a wary ear out for any night critters on the prowl.

David doesn’t sleep. He can’t with his mind running with a million different scenarios and he keeps himself busy anyway. He names all the types of fish in the river, whittles Max’s walking stick into a spear, lengthens the lean-to and keeps Max snug within it, and eventually carves a bowl to catch rainwater when clouds begin to cover the moonlight. He tends to the nicks and cuts on his fingers from all the work, trying to ignore how hard his hands are shaking.

David’s scared. But he won’t admit it. Not out loud, not when Max was depending on him. _I’ve already failed once_ , he grimly thinks, fingertips ghosting over the deep scratches across his arms when he’d lost Max in Lake Lilac. If it ended in the worst way possible, he’d break then, but he was holding himself together for their sake. 

Max’s fever wanes just a bit as light creeps over the horizon. It’s faint and dim as rainclouds congregate and spatter down a light sprinkle, sizzling out the fire. David adjusts Max under the most secure part of the lean-to and gathers rainwater to drink. He gives most of it to his young patient, and the rest to himself. 

David’s consciousness is slipping, just a little. The world fades out in a shuffling blur but snaps back into frightened clarity at the sound of helicopter blades. David looks up, catching sight of a rescue copter a few miles away, hovering to the far left of the river. 

Max shivers and suddenly squirms, mumbling something under his breath and reaching for David.

His hand catches on David’s shirt, his breathing becoming ragged, and David doesn’t move. He gathers Max closer, lifting him up to help him breathe better, and the helicopter moves in the opposite direction. 

Once Max is breathing normally, the helicopter is gone.

David doesn’t dwell on it. He keeps Max cradled, surging all his attention on the boy’s vitals, as if just concentrating enough is the key to getting Max’s eyes to open. As morning shifts slowly to noon, the rain comes down a little harder. It’s comforting. It’s soothing. It lulls David into a false sense of security that he knows very well he shouldn’t fall into but he can’t help it.

His eyes fall shut. The world blends away into a dreamy state and he sees Gwen. The two of them are talking about something, she smacks him with his clipboard, and they laugh and head towards the campfire where all his campers are gathered. It’s warm and inviting, the mood is jovial and friendly, and no one is trying to start a fire challenge with their marshmallows.

He knows it’s fake when his hand slips into Gwen’s and Max is smiling.

He knows something’s wrong when the dream jerks away, ripped from his mind so quickly that everything spins.

When he opens his eyes and is back to the present, Max isn’t breathing. 

—-

“No, but that’s the thing! If birds _had_ teeth, we wouldn’t need bugs!”

“Nikki, that’s not how ecosystems work at all.”

“I’m right and _you know it._ ”

Nikki’s perched on top of their wagon of posters, her head carefully cradled on her hands and her elbows on her knees. The B.B. gun knocks against her back as Neil pulls them through the paths that become excessively flowery the farther they go. The deep sense of dread in the pit of his stomach won’t vanish no matter how inane their conversations get.

“Vampire birds! Now that’s a concept!” Nikki turns her attention back towards Neil, sensing his unease. “Hey, you alright?”

“Peachy.” Neil grits his teeth as he stops the wagon. The crooked sign nailed on a tree announces their destination. 

“I can lead, if you wanna.” Nikki jumps off, padding to his side as she inspects the garish brightly painted sign. _Flower Scouts Camp: Leave Bad Manners and Bad Attitudes At the Door!_ “These girls may have been a part of my epiphany that some girls are evil and out to getcha, but I can still handle it!”

“It’s fine, Nikki.” Neil digs out his pen and notepad. He hadn’t considered the idea that their camp could be in jeopardy from the flower scouts too but it’s too late to consider anyway. “You hide in the trees and be my espionage. You’ll know if I need you.”

Nikki salutes, before disappearing up a tree so fast, she might as well have teleported. Neil grips at the wagon with a sweaty hand and steps into flower scout territory.

It could be worse. Aside from the blinding scenery and brightly painted buildings (which really stretched the idea of this place being a camp), there isn’t a group of watchdogs to hound him for daring to exist in the space. If anything, he feels unease and a bit of envy at the sight of clean paved roads and trees not filled with murderous squirrels. How they somehow got _better_ since his last visit makes him wonder who’s shitting out the money.

He glances at his notepad again, before pulling up a staple gun from his backpack and a poster of Max. He stamps it to a nearby tree, the bright searing blue of the letters blending in with the carnation flowerbed below it. Max’s surly face stares right back and Neil can hear the mocking tone of his best friend’s voice. _God, you can’t even talk to girls when I’m fucking_ missing _. Step the fuck up, Neil._

There’snot a camper in sight. 

Save for one.

“What the helllll?”

Neil spins just in time to see Erin push her way through the trees. A bright duffel bag is slung over her shoulder and she eyes Neil’s wagon with curiosity rather than suspicion.

“...hey.” Neil squeaks and Max’s poster might as well be glaring at him.

Erin hesitates, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “Um, Miss Priss said solicitors will be sh— oh! Wait. You’re that weird nerd kid from the camp across the lake.”

Small blessings. Out of the main scouts they knew, Erin was the most bearable and the sense of being recognized melts the tight fear gnawing in Neil’s chest. “Oh thank god, Erin. What...why are you the only one out here?”

“Petal Meetings. I’m Mrs. Priss’ delivery girl, so I usually never go to them. They’re sooo boring anyway.” Erin adjusts the bag that sounds vaguely full of wine bottles. “Like. I’m generally supposed to scream Stranger Danger or some shit but I’m honestly wondering why you’re here?”

“Yeah. Um. I’m hoping I can get a weird alliance going on here.” Neil grips at a stack of papers, ignoring the tremble in his fingers and the awkward rush in his voice. “Erin, we lost Max and David.”

Erin’s eyes widen. “Like. They’re _dead_?”

“No! Well maybe. Could be, but we’re really hoping that they’re not!” Neil pushes a flyer in her hand and Erin stumbles a bit. “Look, Gwen isn’t processing everything fast enough and the search and rescue team is shit and we need help! I’m not sure if you guys have an actual program for this stuff but if it’s just getting the word out—“

He expects her to throw the paper back in his face, but Erin grabs at his arm instead, concern crossing her face. “Hey. Hey, chill. What was your name again?”

“Uh. N-Neil.”

“Neil.” She looks back at the paper, then back at him. “I get it. We lost a girl once. She actually just went home early but it was a really weird vibe. Especially since ya know...it sounds like they kinda just disappeared?”

Neil doesn’t want to elaborate. He only nods.

Erin is quiet for a second, and Neil ponders the mystery of how much quicker Erin is compared to her fellow scouts. Less shallow, more empathetic. It’s a questionable lifeline he hasn’t figured out and Max would _hate_ him for how hard he’s throwing himself at it.

“I think I can try to help.” The soft smile on her face transfers its way to his. “I want to help. You’re our sister camp, we can’t let you guys go crazy.” 

Neil huffs a nervous laugh. “Erin, that’d be great.”

“Yeah, well. It’s kinda, you know, a big deal?”

“...I expected this to be a lot harder. Usually by now, someone comes in to mess it all up—“ 

A shrill scream pierces the air and the gratitude in Neil displaces itself immediately. Erin and Neil whip around in time to see Tabii fall from her cover within a bush, a hand clamped over her shoulder. “O-M-G, who the _fuck_ shot me?!”

“Get back, hellion!” Nikki pounces onto a visible branch, the B.B. gun aimed even as she balances precariously. “I’ll do it again! I’ll shoot out that other eye, _don’t test me_!”

“Nikki!” Neil calls as Erin groans, “Ugh, Tabbii, what the fuck!?”

“She had it! The hungry eyes!” Nikki jumps to the ground and snarls and Neil quickly moves to set her aside. “Nikki, I didn’t give a signal—“

“Stalking does not make you pretty,” Erin bites as Tabbii writhes on the ground.

“Ok, _whoa_.”

The noise dies down and Neil steps back as Sasha comes sauntering into view, Miss Priss at her heels. “Ladies! We do not interact with solicitors!” Miss Priss snaps and Erin skitters away before Neil can stop her. The counselor sets a steely gaze and Nikki quickly hugs herself against Neil’s side.

They never had much respect for other camp counselors, considering the bar was ridiculously low and still never met; but Neil feels weirdly on display and uncomfortably vulnerable as he realizes how many scouts have emerged to stare. Max’s poster flutters a bit, calling all the attention, and he’d be laughing at their situation if he were present.

“What are you two ruffians doing on Flower Scout campground?” Miss Priss puckers overly glossed lips and Sasha’s stare bores into their souls. 

“We come in peace!” Nikki throws up a hand, before pausing and delicately hugging the B.B. gun to her chest. Neil heaves a frustrated sigh as he gently nudges her to the side. “Our camp lost some people to Lake Lilac. But we think they might still be out there. We want you guys to distribute missing posters, round up impromptu search parties, or tweet or....something, I don’t care.. We just....want help.”

Sasha’s glare doesn’t waver. Miss Priss plucks the poster out of Erin’s hands, holding it between two fingers like a piece of trash. “Sorry, darling. We already filled the community service quota last week.”

“Ugh, so many missing puppies, it’s sooo annoying,” Sasha intones. 

“Miss Priss, this is different!” Erin moves to grab back Max’s poster, bringing it above her head. “These are, like, people. People we knew! This guy was weird as fuck, but we can’t let them just stay _lost_.”

“Maybe...maybe we can kinda help this time,” Tabbii chimes in. 

“Girls, we do not get involved in things that don’t concern us. There’s no benefit. Besides, you best leave this to professionals.” Miss Priss waves a hand as a surge of conversational energy moves through the other scouts. Sasha rolls her eyes but Neil can’t tell at who.

“The professionals _suck,”_ He hisses. “Adults suck. And you’re a prime example of a sucky stupid adult!”

“Neil, I don’t think this is what negotiation is,” Nikki stage-whispers, gripping his arm.

“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.” Miss Priss stamps the poster under her foot and is gone as quick as she arrived. The rest of the scouts follow like ducklings, taking the judgmental air with them, but the three main girls stay put; Tabbii and Erin whisper to each other, and Sasha stands with clenched fists against her sides. 

“...we can go.” Neil feels defeated and slightly tempted to sic Nikki on the drunkard. But Max knew when to pick fights and he might as well emulate that. “Sorry we fucked up your schedule or whatever. Though I’m saying that to be nice.”

“Give us some of those posters.” Sasha’s voice slices through Neil’s foggy mind and she snaps her fingers and points to her feet. Erin and Tabbi move to grab armfuls of posters off the wagon. “...it’s Max, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Him and David.” Something in Nikki’s eyes soften as she places a hand on one of the stacks.

Sasha doesn’t look at them. She bends down, picks up Max’s poster, and wipes aggressively at it to shake off the dirt. “Okay. Fine. I know a few girls with tactical experience, they’ll do some hikes and see what they can find. The better ones, us obviously, can spread the word through the internet. None of this caveman shit.”

Neil feels heavy. The words stick in his throat, but thankfully Nikki is there to help. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Now get the fuck out of our camp.”

—-

It’s weird, really fucking weird, to try to think like David but Gwen figured at first that she’s had enough experience to pull it off. Not that she can ever match his mindset, the sheer concept of _believing in people,_ but spending months in a cabin with the guy had to produce some type of effect on her. 

Obviously, her plan falls to shreds and none of the campers care to listen. Because even with authorities cruising around their lake and the somber vibe hanging over the camp, kids are still annoying kids that require feeding and disciplining and shielding from sharp objects. Especially _her kids_.

She’s accepted it already once lunch rolls around.

Neil and Nikki turn up as expected and plop on either side of her with mystery potatoes and poor excuses of sandwiches. Gwen is exhausted, and if the rest of the camp wasn’t as subdued, she’s convinced the mess hall would be a pile of ashes by now.

“It worked,” Neil says as Nikki dramatically shrugs. “God only knows how.”

“Thanks, kids.” Gwen peels a piece of lettuce off her own sandwich. “I’m about to fucking fall apart here.”

“Yeah, you have that look in your eyes.” Neil scoops up mashed potatoes as Nikki gets to work sculpting hers. “We’re heading into Wood Scouts territory next. We wouldn’t happen to have any extra mace?”

Gwen doesn’t get to answer, as Space Kid suddenly jumps to his feet to point out the window. “Whoa! A car!”

The noise in the mess hall dies down, and Gwen clambers to her feet. Something drops in her stomach like a rock as a familiar Jeep pulls up and rams into the flagpole. “Ah, shit.” Her eyes fall on the safety box nestled in the corner of the mess hall, crammed with leftover money she could scavenge and their remaining source of missing posters. Posters of David and Max. Damning evidence of something that’d shut the camp out in a snap. “Ah, _shit_.”

“Two ‘ah shits’! That means it’s really bad!” Preston remarks.

“Harrison!” Gwen reels herself around, nearly knocking Nerris over. The magic boy pops his head up from under the table, and everyone turns as he waves a meek hand. Gwen points to the safe. “I need you to make this disappear. I don’t care how you do it, just know how to get it back!”

“Easier said than done!” Harrison squeaks but he pads over to the safety box. Gwen turns to the rest of the campers as she blocks the front doors. “The rest of you, get out! We can’t let Campbell know what happened or this place is done for!”

“Freedooooom!” Nurf bellows, shooting Space Kid out a nearby window. The rest of the campers scramble, climbing through the back door and out the now-shattered window. 

Harrison flaps a sheet and the safe is gone. He babbles an explanation as Quartermaster grunts, lifting the boy by the back of his shirt and tossing him out.

Neil takes Nikki’s hand and the two of them duck out just as the front doors swing open.

Cameron Campbell stands, as irritatingly proud and frustratingly ignorant as ever, and Gwen tries to pretend like she isn’t standing in the middle of a hastily abandoned messhall in the middle of lunch hour.

“...what?” She scowls, skipping all pleasantries. He was never much for greetings anyway.

“Ah, Gwanda! You wouldn’t _believe_ how busy I’ve been!” Campbell strolls in, merrily shoving her out of the way and Quartermaster huffs from the corner. “I kept getting very weird urgent calls during my...business trip. Not that I’d answer them! You know how many bugs are in phones these days.”

“Something something world order,” Gwen mutters and Quartermaster waves his hook. She nervously sits herself on the nearest bench, not trusting her legs to keep her up. “Um, Campbell—“

“It reminded me so much of our glorious camp and how you and David call me insistently on things like the budget! Which! I’ve come to place another IOU but will 100% pay back next time I—“ Campbell stops, his brow furrowing as he takes in the noticeable imprint of the missing safe. “Um...Grace, where is the safe?”

“Safe? You mean the camp budget?” She’s forcing the anxiety down to its shitty alcove in the recesses of her brain as Campbell turns to face her. “Yeah, David relocated it. Said having it out in the damn open wasn’t the best idea.”

“Ah. Good ol’ Davey.” Campbell’s smile struggles and Gwen stares at him. “Well. Any idea where he put it?”

“Hell if I know. You know how David is, knowing this forest inside and out. Probably put it in a tree or something.” And that in itself feels akin to a hook clinging onto her to bring her back up to the surface. The anxiety breaks, just for a second, at the thought of it. David knows the woods. David is _okay_.

_He’s okay. And you can’t know._

Campbell still takes work to make suspicious, but he glances at the Quartermaster, who only replies by scratching his nose with his hook. “...right. And where is David?”

“Boy, full of questions today.” Gwen stands up, taking the nerve to approach her boss. He’s taller and far more intimidating, but Gwen’s steely gaze is enough of a match. “He’s out. Said he needed a day off, went on a stupid nature hike. And I’m gonna say it nicely, that maybe you join him on that hike, because that budget is barely enough to fake out the bills before we get out of this dump.”

Campbell doesn’t reply. He stares back, the form of his posture enough to indicate he’s noticed Gwen’s renewed energy but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he moves to his hidden spot in the attic, leaving Gwen feeling empty and dizzy.

When his hulking form disappears into the dark, Quartermaster shuffles to her side. “He’s suspicious. Gonna figure it out.”

“He _can’t_.” Gwen is appalled by the devastation in her voice and she clears it out of her throat. “Just. We gotta get him out.”

Quartermaster huffs agreement at that and Campbell comes back down with a sack slung over one shoulder. “Gwendolyn!” He shoots her a smile and ice water shoots through her veins at the sound of her actual name. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be a bother if I stuck around for a bit? Just enough to get the location of that safe?”

If her passive-aggressive remark was merely ignored, she wouldn’t be surprised. If he was too stupid to get it, she still wouldn’t be surprised. Regardless, she blocks his way down by bracing herself on the stairway. “If you’re staying around, you gotta help out.”

“Of course, of course!” Campbell gleams, that ever-present car-salesman smile. Normally it’d churn Gwen’s stomach but now she sees it as a weapon she oughta retaliate. 

“Get more money. I don’t care what you do. Just don’t track it back.” Gwen’s tone falls close to a growl and she steps away to let him off. Campbell’s expression pinches at the tone known as passion in her voice, _something she never has_ , and she almost regrets showing it but Campbell only nods. “Leave me to my devices, I leave you to yours. Smart girl.”

The front doors slam open again and it’s Nikki, a wild grin on her face. “Gweeeeen! We have a situatiooooon.” She pauses, then points a sticky hand at Campbell. “Ooh! You can help!”

“I’m out.” Campbell bounds to the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow for David!” And with that, the Jeep peels out and disappears down the trail, a weight lifting off Gwen’s shoulders for the night.

She doesn’t show that she’d had an entire internal monologue that’d exhausted any cognitive thinking. Instead she follows Nikki to the activity field, where all the campers are attempting to shake down the safe from its spot nestled up in a pine tree.

“Start the levitation spell!” Nerris waves her hands as Ered aims a slingshot. Nurf throws various things, including Dolph and Space Kid, but they never get very far. Neil’s on the floor watching, less than enthused as Harrison paces and mumbles beside him.

“Give it the good ol’ one-two!” Nikki crows and Gwen bites back a groan.

She’ll make it. She has to.

—-

Max isn’t sure what’s happened. Existence blends into a constant stream of sound and cold and warmth; his body disobeys his extinct to open his eyes; and suddenly everything dips into a pool of nothingness, and he floats and feels like he’s getting stretched in all directions as an insistent buzzing noise rings in the back of his head. It’s futile to make sense of it because any stream of consciousness escapes from his grasp and his effort feels like water falling through a sieve. He can’t understand. He can’t feel, he can’t see, he can’t touch.

And then he opens his eyes.

“What the _fuck_?”

He shifts in a chair, floating in the cosmos of space and time, _presumably_. No fires of hell or gates of heaven, not that he’d expected _that_ display. There’s a spread on the clothed table before him, dainty white teacups and a tray of biscuits and fancy doilies he’d expect from a nursing home. But the most startling factor is the octopus seated on a stool across the table, donning a light grey suit and staring off into nothingness. Its tentacles wriggle in midair, making no acknowledgement of his presence.

“What the fuck.” Emotion deflates from his voice like a balloon. Max wrings his hands in his hair, aware that his sense of touch is still present, but the floor under his feet isn’t.

“Hey there, Max!” A tentacle flaps on the table in a half-hearted wave and Max thinks he’s about to have a stroke. “Don’t mind the weirdness. This isn’t even half of it.” Despite the lack of a mouth, the words come loud and clear from the cephalopod on the stool and it’s too much to bear.

“Oh god. I’ve gone insane, haven’t I.” Max’s tone stays deadpan. The undulating surface of the universe makes him feel woozy. 

“More like gone dead. But you can fix that.” A teapot lifts itself into the air, pouring piping hot chamomile into Max’s cup. 

He’s gone crazy. David fed him bad mushrooms and they’re tripping. He actually drowned and this is his damning to hell. Oh god, _David_ —

“Relax. Let’s ease up on the panic juuuust a tad.” Max feels his shoulders unclench even as the fear squeezes in his chest and claws up his throat. He finally trains his eyes on the octopus, achingly aware of the sheer knowingness the _thing_ possesses. It radiates so much, but Max can pick out the slightest feeling of calm directed towards him, and he takes a deep breath.

“We just gotta talk.”


End file.
